


Pig

by Fatlockandfeeding



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fatlock, Humiliation, Incest, M/M, Sibling Incest, Weight Gain, fat character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-03
Updated: 2014-09-03
Packaged: 2018-02-16 00:49:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2249685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fatlockandfeeding/pseuds/Fatlockandfeeding
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Sherlock's so eager to get Mycroft nice and fat that he doesn't realize that snacking along with his brother is giving him a gut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pig

Sherlock grinned as he dipped his fingers into the rich jar of treacle and held them out to Mycroft, who was panting on the bed, his stuffed gut resting in his lap and his eyes tired and wide.   
  
"Sherlock," he huffed, "no more…it’s been enough now."[[MORE]]

Sherlock made a tutting noise and stuck his fingers in his mouth, sucking the rich, sugary ooze off them. “Mmm,” his deep voice reverberated in his chest, and then he scooped up more treacle, and held his fingers to Mycroft’s mouth, his other hand rubbing the man’s fat belly, “are you sure, brother dear? You’ve become such a bottomless pit, surely there’s room for just a little more?”  
  
Since they had started this little experiment Mycroft had rapidly put on weight, almost sixty pounds in four months. His belly had blossomed into a gut, pink stretch marks spidering up the side as it trembled in his brother’s hand. He let out a long sigh, and then opened his mouth, moaning as Sherlock shoved his fingers inside.   
  
"Good," Sherlock breathed out, his pupils growing larger, "very good, what a good hog you are…"  
  
After the first sixty came, the next twenty piled on in one month, with Sherlock finding every way he could to fatten his brother up. One night they lay in bed together while Sherlock dipped sticks of butter in sugar and held them to his brother’s waiting lips, sucking his own fingers clean when the butter melted and made them greasy. He ordered mountains of Chinese food for them and alternated bites with his brother, always making sure Mycroft’s were larger before feeding him something succulent for dessert afterwards.   
  
Sherlock found that he was a very tactile feeder. He liked to feed Mycroft with his hands, and lick his fingers clean afterwards. He enjoyed spreading cold ice cream on his brother’s soft gut before feeding it to him, licking up spills as he went, and he liked to feed Mycroft while he was inside of him, slipping squares of rich chocolate into his own mouth and then kissing them into the older man’s, all the while reminding him of how very much he had let himself go, the pig.   
  
And Mycroft loved it. He squealed and moaned and ate and grew until he huffed when he walked up stairs, grunted when he stood, and developed an aversion to any sort of physical activity that didn’t result in orgasm.   
  
But then, Sherlock thought smugly, that was bound to happen when the man had gained over one hundred pounds.   
  
One day, Sherlock was lying on his side in their bed, watching appreciatively as Mycroft waddled around, getting dressed, and he spoke up, pressing a hand into his cock.   
  
"Your overhang’s become so large that it hides your cock," he tutted, "whatever shall we do with you? Look at how you’ve let yourself go."  
  
Mycroft looked over and frowned. “I haven’t time for this, Sherlock, I’m late as it is -“

"And it takes you so long to walk to the car now," Sherlock said gleefully, "you absolute hog."  
  
Mycroft tilted his head to one side as he buttoned his massive shirt, and then approached Sherlock slowly, sliding one hand down the man’s chest. Sherlock smiled and pulled down the sheet, anticipating a handjob at least, but Mycroft’s hand stopped at his belly. And  _squeezed_. 

"And what about you, dearest brother?" Mycroft jiggled the fat on Sherlock’s belly and Sherlock looked down in horror, as though seeing it for the first time. "What about how fat  _you’ve_ become?”  
  
Sherlock spluttered and shook his head. “I have not, I -“

"Now Sherlock," Mycroft’s voice was silky and low, "let’s just see, shall we?" The older man walked over to their ensuite, and Sherlock heard a grunting sound as he bent over. Minutes later, he returned with the scale and set it by the bed. 

Sherlock blanched. “ _No_.”

"Oh come now," Mycroft folded his large, soft arms over his gut, "surely it can’t be that bad? Get. On. The scale."

Sherlock paused a few moments, his lips pursing, and then he rolled his eyes and sat up, wincing at the way his belly jiggled as he did so. “Fine,” he muttered, “if it will shut you up. It’s not more than a stone.”

The corner of Mycroft’s mouth quirked up. “Oh, I’m not so sure about -ah ah!” He held up his hand. “Shirt, Sherlock. Take off the shirt.”  
  
Sherlock paused, but then did as he was told, stripping off the cotton shirt and setting it on the bed before stepping on the scale. He looked down, his eyes pausing for a second at the way his stomach domed out in a way it never had before, and then his eyes widened. 

Fifty pounds. He had put on fifty pounds.   
  
Mycroft walked up behind him and leaned over his shoulder, chuckling at the number. 

"My my," he said gently, and then he reached around and hefted Sherlock’s small gut, "soon,  _dearest brother_ , this will start to  _hang._ ”

And with that he stepped away, pulled on his waistcoat and jacket, and headed out of the room. 

"I really must go," he called back, "but I’ll see you for dinner…" He grinned. " _Pig._ ”

Sherlock said nothing, and watched the man waddle away, before planning exactly what their dinner would consist of. 


End file.
